


Shadow of a Dragon

by Rikkamaru



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Older Brother Newt Scamander, Pre-Canon, Younger Brother Theseus Scamander
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 14:55:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikkamaru/pseuds/Rikkamaru
Summary: Newt Scamander cast one of the longest shadows in history. It was near impossible to escape. But Theseus thinks he made it out okay.





	Shadow of a Dragon

The earliest memory Theseus ever had was of his older brother.

All he could see was Newt’s face above him and the blue sky, his brother cradling him as their mother fed some of the newborn hippogriffs. At least, Theseus guessed that’s where she was, because that’s most of what she did when he was growing up. Tending to the hippogriffs, with Newt either helping her with them or taking care of Theseus so that he didn’t distract their mother.

He remembered being five and learning the proper way to greet a hippogriff, Newt’s eyes overlooking the proceedings a constant source of comfort. He remembered accidentally pulling a feather and seeing the hippogriff rear, Newt diving between him and it and receiving a swipe for his troubles before he managed to calm the creature back down.

Theseus remembered sobbing in his brother’s arms and trying to help, his hands going red with blood as he pushed the sleeve of his brother’s shirt harder into his arm to stop the bleeding. But Newt never seemed upset with him, just upset at the pain in general. The hippogriff looked equally upset, the large creature trying to push closer and examine the injury it’d inflicted, whistling in worry.

He remembered his mother appearing soon after, dressing the wound but scolding Newt for being so reckless – _you should know better,_ she’d said, wrapping bandages over the salve and cuts. _Now Tyros is near-inconsolable_. Newt glanced at Theseus to make sure he was still there and alright, but didn’t say anything, didn’t tell her what really happened, but apologized and promised to be more careful.

That’s one of the darkest memories Theseus held from his family’s infatuation with Magical Beasts (and, years later, he will never admit out loud the fact that his brother barely considers that in the top twenty of bad experiences he's had with animals both relieves him and upsets him even further). And perhaps that was why his interests laid instead in _saving_ others from creatures, the way his brother had for him. He wanted to be a hero, like his namesake, like how his brother was to him.

He wanted to be someone his brother was proud of. Something that, years later, Theseus would be able to admit wasn’t hard. His brother was always proud of him, would perhaps be disappointed but would never make him feel like he would love him any less. His brother would beam whenever he managed to control his accidental magic and make the flowers in the garden bloom all at once, when he successfully rode his first hippogriff; any time Newt was home from Hogwarts Theseus would show him what new thing he could do, and it always managed to get a proud look in his eyes and quiet, “well done, Theseus” that made him feel like he was on the top of the world.

Newt came home early one year from Hogwarts, his skin so pale his freckles looked like dots of blood. His father was disappointed but his mother was pleased to have a capable hand once more on the farm. Theseus waited until it was night and Newt looked a little less like all of the blood in his body had left, then snuck into his room. “What happened?” he asked, sidling closer to where his brother was sitting at his desk, writing in his journal.

Newt looked up at him and offered him a tiny smile, barely there but warm enough to make up for it. “A Jarvey attacked a student,” he admitted quietly, putting his quill down inside the journal and shutting it. “My friend was accused of owning it and setting it on the student, so I took the blame so she wouldn’t be in trouble.”

Theseus listened to the story and frowned. “Did she set it on the student?” He asked.

Newt was quiet for a moment, and silence made tension build up between them like a held breath. It disappeared as Newt sighed. “I don’t know,” he admitted, and Theseus frowned. That wasn’t like his brother.

“Then why defend her?” He asked, and Newt just shook his head.

“Because she was a Slytherin, and that was all any of them needed to expel her for this. And…I could live with this on my record. She couldn’t.”

Theseus didn’t think he truly understood, but it sounded like Newt had been trying to save her from unfair treatment, and knew he’d never be able to convince his brother he made the wrong choice, and left it at that.

A few years later, before he went on the train to Hogwarts he sat with his brother and pestered him while their family owl perched on Newt’s bent knee and Newt tried to sketch it. “What house do you think I’ll go to?” he asked, his hands curling on his robes in a rare show of anxiety.

Newt didn’t answer right away, his eyes trained on his sketch with only a few glances at the content Amadeus, but when he did finally look at Theseus he looked surprised that his younger brother had even asked. “Gryffindor possibly,” he said, before putting his quill between his teeth to get out his wand and dry the ink on the parchment. After that he sighed and shot the bag he’d brought with him a look, as if he wasn’t looking forward to filling out whatever was in there.

Newt was working at the Ministry now, and while Theseus didn’t think he was happy, Newt at least didn’t hate being there for a little while.

Theseus ignored it and stared at him, hope and disappointment inside him. “Not Hufflepuff?” He asked, and Newt looked genuinely shocked at the question, his quill falling out of his mouth and splattering some ink on his robes.

“I certainly think you’d be a great match for Hufflepuff, The,” he said genuinely, hand rising up to sooth Amadeus when he squawked in irritation at the ink that got on him. “You’re loyal and certainly hardworking, seeing as you push yourself to improve and _have done so_ since I’ve been going to Hogwarts. But Hufflepuffs go on to do great things that aren’t really called attention to, while Gryffindors always make big, noteworthy changes. And I can’t see you making changes that _aren’t_ noticed.”

Hearing his brother genuinely compliment him made Theseus blush a little in embarrassment. Coming from a Hufflepuff, being told you’d fit better in a different house could almost have sounded insulting, but Theseus knew his brother was just being matter-of-fact about it. Theseus wants to be a hero – Gryffindor is where heroes are made.

But that wasn’t fair, he thought. Why shouldn’t Hufflepuff have its own heroes that make huge waves in the magical world? Why couldn’t Theseus be a hero _and_ a Hufflepuff? Heroes should be loyal and hardworking alongside being brave, after all.

And he would show people that Hufflepuffs could be just as brave as any Gryffindor.

When he was sorted into the house of the badgers, Newt’s letter back to him was surprised and delighted, and Theseus couldn’t stop grinning for the rest of the day.

* * *

Being Newt Scamander’s younger brother made him the center of a lot of people’s attentions, and most of them weren’t kind.

He’d see Ravenclaws glare at him from the corner of his eye, and Slytherins take care to minimize interacting with him. Half of the teachers watched him closely to make sure he was paying attention, and Theseus felt like he was going mad until one of the older Hufflepuffs told the first-years the secret to getting into the kitchens one night.

That had changed nothing, but it felt like the very foundation beneath Theseus had shifted.

The house elves _loved_ Newt. Apparently he had come by nearly every day, to eat or talk or simply find a quiet place to work. The elves would bring him injured animals and watch in interest as he patched them up, and fetch him books he couldn’t find about obscure magical beasts, even if it was procured from the Restricted Section. Theseus watched in surprise as the elves swarmed him with questions about how his brother was doing, and felt his resolve strengthen.

Slowly, painstakingly, year after year, Theseus rose up in popularity with his schoolmates, dragging his brother’s reputation up with him. He became the leader of his year, became the person you came to if you ever needed help, became reliable and steadfast and every inch the poster child for the Prefect and Head Boy position. Occasionally his brother would send him letters, telling him stories from whatever subdivision of the Beast Division he was in at the time, and hearing the despondent note in all of their missives just made him push harder.

When he graduated, he was sent into the Auror Corps with top marks – and then shipped straight into a warzone.

* * *

Theseus let out a harsh breath as he dragged his partner out of the way of spellfire, his partner babbling in a variety of languages Theseus didn’t understand. “Merlin, how many spells did they hit you with?” he asked, not really expecting an answer so unsurprised when all his got was a series of words that sounded Eastern European.

He apparated back to camp and dropped his squad-mate off with the healers then went to the tactical tent, his exhaustion a weight on his shoulders.

This war felt like it was never going to end. He’d only been here for three years and during that time the people around him either died or were dragged out of the fire by Theseus himself, leading to a series of promotions that no eighteen year old should ever go through.

But then, no eighteen year old should be in the middle of a warzone either.

He shook the thought off as he entered the tent, waving people down when they struggled to offer him salutes. “When’s the next shipment of potions coming in?” he asked, biting the inside of his cheek as he settled into a chair and felt pain rock through his body in response. He dropped his head and took in deep breaths, desperately trying to ignore the ash that coated his nose and mouth, and waited for an answer.

None came, and after a minute Theseus looked up to see all of the people around his avoiding his eyes. A weight dropped into his stomach and he growled, “Well?”

Still none of them answer and he turned to one in particular. “Angler,” he barked, his throat aching from the force of it, and the man straightened immediately, even as blood left his face. “When is the next shipment of potions arriving? A lot of men are injured and we need to prioritize the care received.”

Angler swallowed, and the shadows under his eyes looked gruesome in the dimming light. “We don’t know, sir,” he admitted, his voice a whisper. “They’ve done something, added runes to the surrounding area – none of our messenger patroni or floo messages can get out. Any owls we’ve managed to keep alive will be killed or intercepted. We don’t even know if they’ve received our messages from weeks ago.”

Theseus stared at him, and had to fight back the hysterical laugh that wanted to claw its way up through his throat. “When was this found out?” he asked, and Angler shied away from whatever he saw in the younger man’s eyes.

“Yesterday during the evening patrols, sir,” he answered. “We managed to confirm it two hours ago.”

Of course they did. Theseus stared sightlessly at the map rolled out before him, the lines and markers now mocking him. Their enemy hadn’t been reluctantly giving ground, they’d been luring them into a trap. All of their hard work, leading up to this – hanging themselves with the noose they’d been provided. Theseus didn’t know what to do.

And that’s when the screaming outside started.

They all jumped to their feet – many of them swaying, most of them cursing, but all of them still trying to get outside so they could see what had caused such a reaction.

Theseus was out first, and he watched as people scattered like a startled flock of birds, some of them glancing up before moving even faster away. He looked up, a cutting curse on the tip of his tongue, before freezing.

A dragon was circling their camp, roaring out into the darkness. For a moment he thought he could hear the enemy retreating, just as unnerved and confused with the pale creature’s appearance as they were, but the deafening sound of the beast’s roar drowned everything else out.

After circling them for a moment longer the dragon changed course and flew over the no man’s land, and everyone that had turned to watch it cried out in discomfort and fear as it released a stream of fire that rose up hungrily between the two sides, remaining longer in that way that all dragon fire did.

And then it landed a few yards from their camp, the impact of it hitting the ground jarring Theseus’ bones. But he gritted his teeth against the pain and moved forward to confront the new potential enemy, barking orders to the other officers. “Take this opportunity! Either evacuate as many as we can manage, or get runners outside of the run circle to get aid and reinforcements!” They scrambled to obey him as he limped out of the camp and moved closer to where the dragon crouched, its eyes locking onto him. A deep growl resonated in its chest, before stopping as the last person Theseus was expecting slid off of its back.

He stared at his older brother, hardly believing his eyes. “Newt?” He asked, afraid of being right – terrified of being wrong.

His brother gazed back steadily. “Theseus.” He paused, clearly nervous about being there right then, but pressed on. “I stopped receiving your letters and worried.”

“So you _flew a dragon here_?” Theseus asked, barely able to believe it.

Newt looked at him like the answer was obvious. “Of course. You’d only stop sending letters if they weren’t arriving properly or –” he stopped as his voice betrayed him, before continuing on, “and I wasn’t willing to accept the alternative.”

The hysteria from before came back with a vengeance, and Theseus began to laugh, harder and harder until he realized he was crying, sobbing into his brother’s shoulder as the man had approached him when he’d started laughing. And he continued to sob, so hard he was nearly retching with the force of it, but Newt held on mumbling something that sounded nonsensical but soothed him nonetheless. “I didn’t even know what to think when I saw that dragon,” Theseus told his brother, “but I’m _so glad_ it was you.”

After Theseus managed to calm himself he withdrew from the embrace but kept his hands tight to Newt’s arms. “Our soldiers – do you have anything for wounds? Anything would be appreciated at this point – we’ve been without aid for weeks.”

“I think I can do you one better,” his brother said, before stepping away and going to the dragon’s side. Theseus thought about following but one look at the creature now snarling at him kept him still. 

When Newt returned, it was with the briefcase he’d taken to carrying around with him in his hand. Theseus stared at him, confused, until he realized that Newt was offering the _entire case_ to him. He took it and pressed it to his chest, hearing nothing move around within but knowing it had to have _something_ in there to make Newt give it to him. “What is it?” He asked, but in the light he could barely see his older brother’s lips twitch into a thin smile.

“A project I’ve been working on for years. Return it to me once this war is over.”

Trust, and a promise. Theseus nodded. “I will.”

“Good.” They stood there for a moment longer before Newt reached out and grabbed Theseus by his shoulder, bringing him closer until their foreheads bumped companionably. “I’ll see you later, Theseus. Remember to send me a letter.”

“I will.” He watched as his brother drew away and returned to the dragon, getting onto its back and taking off without another look back. Theseus understood. If Newt looked back – there was no telling what he would do to keep Theseus safe.

So instead Theseus turned away and returned to the camp, his fellow soldiers swarming him as they tried to figure out what had just happened, what that dragon had been doing, what he had done, and so on.

He waved most of them off and called out to the officers to meet with him in the war tent. As he entered it he set the briefcase down, took a deep breath, and opened it.

Inside was a ladder.

And Theseus let out a laugh as he realized his brother had given him far more than a few healing potions.

He’d provided him with an entire storeroom, _and_ enough room for a portable hospital.

* * *

The war came to an end and Theseus returned his brother’s case back to him, Newt’s eyes damp and his lips near trembling with relief.

The country lauded Theseus as a war hero, doors of all kinds were opened before him.

The program on the Eastern Front to try and use dragons in war was labeled a failure, and neither of them spoke about that day beyond a few, vague jokes that no one else would understand.


End file.
